Page 22 of The Etiquette of Love (The Academy of Love #7)

F reddie had believed the duke’s first carriage had been the peak of luxury, but she had been mistaken. Not only was this one larger and far more opulent inside, but the exterior bore the ducal escutcheon of her new husband. Her crest now.

Perhaps the biggest difference between the last carriage and this one was the fact that the duke was inside it rather than the garrulous Miss Denny.

Freddie glanced up through her lashes at her husband of roughly one hour. He occupied the back-facing seat with an elegant sprawl that was entirely masculine. His profile was toward her while he stared out the window at the perfect late summer day.

Objectively, she knew that he was not handsome. But flashes of him the way he had been that day at the boathouse kept flickering through her mind’s eye. She now knew there was a deeply sensual man lurking beneath all his quiet dignity. He might not be capable of love, but he had shown himself to be a master of sexual pleasure—both giving and receiving. Freddie knew that she was fortunate in that regard. Many men of their class would never share with their wives even a fraction of the sensuality that they would with their mistresses.

Based on Plimpton’s history with his first wife Freddie knew he would eventually tire of her and take mistresses. The fact that he had dismissed his lovers— plural—after their tryst at the boathouse did not mean his attraction for her would last forever, or even for long.

Sedgewick had returned to his mistresses long before he and Freddie had fallen out with each other. He had not been secretive about his affairs and had brazenly told her about his women just a few months after their wedding night.

Freddie recalled the night well. He had been lying beside her at the time, naked and flushed after what she had believed to be a satisfying bout of sexual congress. Seemingly out of the blue he had told her that although she had pleased him that night, he generally preferred two or even three women at once.

Freddie had felt as though he had thrown a bucket of ice water at her.

He had laughed at Freddie’s revulsion. “What a little prude you are turning out to be, Winifred. How can you dismiss something without even trying it first?”

But she had dismissed it, that night, and every time he had suggested it afterward.

He had not laughed for long, but had turned ugly, especially toward the end of their marriage.

Was that what Plimpton had meant about lovers ? Would he, too, expect such a thing of her?

The thought of it made Freddie unspeakably weary.

“Have you spent much time in Sussex?” the duke asked, thankfully bringing that unpleasant train of thought to a halt.

“Only to pass through it. Where are we going?” she felt compelled to add, when her first comment sounded too abrupt.

“To my smallest estate. I thought we might enjoy a bit of privacy.” He paused and then added, “The name of the house is Sweet Clover. The property came to my family through a great aunt on my distaff side. Great Aunt Horatia was a bit of an eccentric and had a mania for bees. You will find evidence of that passion throughout the house as well as the property. The area around the manor is one of the biggest honey producing areas in Sussex. Another reason I thought we might enjoy Sweet Clover is the annual Honey Fair, when people from all around come to sell wares, a good many of which have something to do with either bees or honey.”

“That sounds delightful,” Freddie said, wishing she did not sound so stiff. The truth was that it would be good to get away from London and the heat and the noise and the crowds. She loved the country but had felt uncomfortable at Torrance Park because of the weight of her past. It would be nice to be somewhere completely…fresh.

Without warning, the duke suddenly shifted across the narrow gap that separated them and lowered himself onto the seat beside her. She subtly inched toward the carriage door, but they were still touching from thighs to shoulders.

He turned to her, his knees brushing her legs, and held out his hand, which he must have stripped of his glove at some point since their mercifully brief ceremony.

Freddie hesitated a few seconds before setting her hand in his. She still wore the pale blue kid gloves she’d purchased to match her wedding outfit, but she could immediately feel the warmth of him through the thin leather barrier.

“I would not have this awkwardness between us, Winifred. I know this marriage is not what you desire, and I hardly helped matters when I lost my temper with you the last time we spoke. I regret I did not exercise more tact and kindness and I apologize for my anger and the hurtful words I spoke that day.

Freddie was startled and embarrassed by his gracious apology. But she was more embarrassed by her own intransigence. Because not too deep down, she knew that she was the one who had been in the wrong. What they had done at the boathouse had been mutual and yet she had treated the outcome—their baby—as if it belonged to her alone.

She made herself look up from their joined hands. While his gaze was shrouded with reserve, she saw a glimmer of the man he had been that day at the boathouse.

He is trying to make the best of an unhappy, but inevitable, situation, Winifred.

Yes, he was.

Freddie sighed and said, “Piers was waiting for me when I came home from Spenham.”

The duke nodded.

“Given his circumstances, he was especially eloquent on the selfishness of my behavior. And he argued on behalf of my—our,” she corrected with a slight smile, “unborn child. He was most persuasive. What I am trying to say, not very articulately, is that I look back on my thoughts of a mere week ago and am appalled that I could contemplate depriving you of your child. I would never forgive you if the situation had been reversed. I am humbled by your forgiveness and deeply regret keeping the knowledge from you. I like to believe that I would have seen the error of my ways sooner rather than later, but that is no excuse.”

Some of the tension left his face. “I believe you would have told me in your own time.” He gently rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb, the absent gesture strangely affecting, as if even when he was not conscious of it, his nature was to comfort, protect, and soothe. “I think we neither of us displayed to advantage on that ride back from Spenham.” He lifted her hand and held it between his palms, the gesture beseeching and hopeful. “We are husband and wife now, Winifred, and I want this to be a good marriage.” His serious mouth flexed into that charming, boyish smile she had seen only on that magical day. “Even if the wedding was less than auspicious.”

Freddie smiled. “It was rather grim, wasn’t it?”

“It would have been a somber event with only the two of us, but the vicar did not help matters with his infernal sniffling.”

He sounded so offended that Freddie laughed. “We will both be lucky if we do not catch sick from him.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “The ultimate gift for newlyweds.”

They both chortled together for a moment. When they stopped, the duke looked at least five years younger. “A wedding is just a brief ceremony, Winifred. A marriage, on the other hand… Well, in between his sniffs there was one line in the vows that stood out to me: the one about our union lasting for as long as we both shall live. I hope that is many, many years. And I do not wish to live those years estranged from my wife and lover.” He paused, and then startled her by adding, “Not this time. Half a life spent with a woman who could not abide me is half a life too much.”

***

Plimpton had not intended to add that last part, but there seemed no point in lying about his past.

Winifred’s fingers shifted in his grasp until they were laced with the hand that had been palm-to-palm with hers. She squeezed firmly, her eyes glassy with emotion. “Thank you for taking the first step, Your Grace. I agree with what you have said. My marriage—as the entire ton must know—did not end happily. But this is a second chance.” She chuckled and then explained at Plimpton’s questioning look. “I am laughing because I recalled a saying one of my friends told me years ago. You have not met Annis yet—she is Lady Rotherhithe now—but she has a saying, in one language or another, for almost every occasion. This one, I think, is Chinese: The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The second-best time is today .” Her expression turned wry. “In other words; we are neither of us young and should not waste one more day.”

Plimpton lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Gardening is yet another activity—along with laundering clothing, washing dishes, and many other practical matters—that I have no experience at. But I am willing to learn, Winifred.”

“I am an excellent gardener,” she assured him. “I have not grown anything useful like a tree, but I can be a boon to your rose gardens.”

“But my turnips will languish,” he teased, earning one of her charming gurgles of laughter. Plimpton did not want to ruin the light mood, but there were questions that needed answering. And the sooner it happened, the sooner they could move forward with their lives.

“You are looking serious,” she said, her smile fading.

“I want to ask you some questions, but I do not want you to feel…persecuted.”

“You want to know about Miranda.”

He nodded. “That is the name of the child you visit?”

Her lips twisted into a smile, but it was an unhappy one. “Yes. That is her name: Miranda de Montfort.”

Plimpton frowned. “De Montfort? But…that is the Earl of Sedgewick’s family name.”

“Yes.”

He shook his head, confused. “You told me that she was not—”

“She is not mine. She was Sedgewick’s child by his first wife.” She held his gaze, her chin trembling slightly. “You said once that trusting one’s spouse to keep a secret worked both ways—for husbands as well as wives—what I have just told you is the most precious, potentially devastating secret I possess. I am asking you now, please do not tell anyone whose child she is.”

“Are you telling me that you stole Sedgewick’s daughter?”

“No! At least… I did not steal her from Sedgewick.” Her voice had risen, and Plimpton could tell she was struggling to remain calm. “He never wanted Miranda, and he ordered me to pretend as if she had died.”

“ What ?”

She nodded, a tear sliding down one pale cheek. “When we married Miranda was barely nine months old. That is part of the reason Sedgewick wanted to remarry so quickly—even before his mourning period was over—to have a mother for his child.” She swallowed twice; her voice unsteady. “I loved Miranda on first sight. It was one of the main reasons I accepted his proposal.”

“The other being to avoid living beneath Wareham’s roof. With Wareham’s wife.”

“That was the main reason,” she admitted. “But I have to admit I would have married him just for Miranda.” She smiled, her thoughts obviously in the past. “Not because she was a pretty baby. Indeed, she was scrawny and hairless and cried incessantly. None of the servants in the nursery could soothe her when she fell into a rage.” Her smile grew. “But I could. At first, Sedgewick was delighted that she had taken to me. He commended me when she put on weight and grew healthier.” Her smile faded. “But he did not like how much time I spent in the nursery.” Her eyes slid to Plimpton’s. “I will tell you now, Your Grace, that I refuse to be rationed when it comes to spending time with my child. And as for sending her out to a wet nurse for the first year as my mother did with me, I absolutely—”

Plimpton squeezed her hand. “ Shhh, darling. You are becoming upset for no reason.”

She tried to yank her hand from his, but he would not allow it. “Are you saying I do not have the right to spend as much time as I want with my own child?”

He smiled at her ferocity. “That is not what I am saying at all. I have seen Honoria with Robert—and Simon, too—and they are not ashamed to spend time with their child. My mother was hounded just as you were because my father believed it was degrading for his duchess to nurse her children. He forbade it and both Simon and I were sent away to a wetnurse for not just the first year, but three.” He still could not believe the cruelty of the man. “He was adamant that any sort of affection on her part would make his heir and spare—yes, that is how he referred to us—weak and soft. On the surface my mother appears to be of a yielding disposition, but her core is pure steel, and she sneaked away to visit both of us in turn. Some would say she was wrong to disobey my father, but I believe Simon and I would have rebelled violently against our father’s strangulating control if not for her. What he saw as a feminizing, weakening influence actually made us stronger.” Plimpton met her gaze squarely. “I am not my father’s son in that regard, Winifred. I do not believe that the most defenseless among us must be neglected in order to be made strong. I honor you for loving Sedgewick’s daughter—a child not even of your own blood—and acting as her champion when she could not champion herself. Now,” he said, taking his handkerchief from his inside pocket and lightly blotting her tears. “Tell me how she came to live with that couple.”

***

Mrs. Brinkley had assured Freddie that the emotions roiling inside her would one day begin to settle.

Unfortunately, that day was not today.

She did not know whether she wanted to sob on the duke’s shoulder and beg him to hold and comfort her, or crawl into his lap and kiss him until he took control and brought them both the pleasure they had experienced the day their child was conceived.

“Winifred?” His eyebrows had lowered, a deep notch of concern between them. “Do you not wish to tell me?”

“No, it is not that. It is just—I am so relieved that you do not think spending time with an infant is a ridiculous waste of a mother’s time.”

“Simon would correct you and say it is not a waste of a father’s time, either.”

“Yes, Honey says he spoils Robert with his love.”

“Is it possible to give a child too much love?”

The question took her breath away. Could this really be the distant, implacable Duke of Plimpton? The same man who had threatened to destroy Freddie’s livelihood to force Honey to bow to his will?

“Why are you looking at me that way, Winifred?”

“No reason,” she lied, and then lightly cleared her throat. “To answer your question, Sedgewick was…” She chewed her lip, searching for the right words.

“Childishly selfish?” Plimpton offered wryly.

“Yes. That describes him perfectly.” Freddie considered her dead husband’s various perversions and amended, “At least it describes his attitude toward getting what he wanted. We were neither of us in love, but the early days of our marriage—before I defied him regarding Miranda—were at least enjoyable.” Freddie chewed her lip, pensive. Sharing this next part would be uncomfortable, but it needed to be said.

“I know a great many people are aware of Sedgewick’s, er, proclivities, so let me address that matter. At first, we had a…satisfactory physical relationship and he was considerate and gentle.” She cleared her throat, her face heating. “At least I thought it was. It was not until later that I learned about his more, er, uncommon tastes. I believe he tried to be a good husband, at least to begin with, but he ceased making any attempts once I held firm about Miranda. The more I dug in my heels about her, the more he punished me.”

“By punish, do you mean—”

“Yes, he became violent, but not until the very end. At first, he found more devious ways to bend me to his will. He took away small things.”

“Such as?” he asked, once again expressionless.

Freddie found talking about this part of her relationship with Sedgewick embarrassing rather than upsetting. Speaking the words aloud made her realize just how petty and small her first husband had been.

“He forbade me to ride. And then he had the servants deny my friends when they came to visit. He hid my correspondence and did not allow me to visit my brother.”

“In other words,” he said grimly. “He was building a cage around you.”

She was relieved he understood. “He became angry when none of that served to change my mind where Miranda was concerned.” She swallowed. “Finally, he—he brought in a doctor, a man who relied on him for his living and needed to curry favor—and the man told me that Miranda was deathly ill. That she was contagious and I would risk my life to tend her. I did not care—I begged Sedgewick to let me nurse her. That was the worst thing I could have done. It was what he had wanted all along: to get a reaction from me. To see evidence of my suffering. If only I had been less—less—”

“You cannot blame yourself for not playing games with a deranged man, Winifred.”

“I know, but—” A sob interrupted the last word and Freddie paused, taking a moment to calm her rioting emotions. “Long before matters reached that point, I had not wanted him to come near me. I—I hated him by then and I fought him with every ounce of my strength. But—but my resistance only excited him more.”

Plimpton briefly closed his eyes. “No wonder you did not want to marry again.”

Freddie licked her suddenly dry lips. “Sedgewick also, er, installed two of his women in the east wing.” Ancient rage bubbled up inside her. “In my own house. It was humiliating, but I was glad of it if it kept him away from me. But again, I erred. He wanted me to notice what he was doing—how he was humiliating me—and when I did not, he came to my bed and—and brought them with him.”

“Dear God.” The duke shook his head, his expression one of disgust. “What Sedgewick did to you was not normal, Winifred.”

“Then you—you would not expect such a thing?”

Plimpton’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“I just meant—well, you mentioned your lovers before, so—”

“God, no!” He shoved a hand through his hair, his expression rigid. “I apologize for that, Winifred. I just said it to—”

“Get a rise out of me?” she guessed, too relieved to be angry.

“Yes. I am sorry. And I hope you believe that I would never —”

“I believe you.” And she did.

He hesitated, as if to pursue the matter, but then nodded and said, “What happened with the child?”

Freddie was grateful to him for steering the story away from her disgusting marriage. “Understand that this went on over several years—it was like a pot that boiled slowly. Only during the last year did it become unbearable. Partly that was due to my resistance, but there was another reason: Miranda herself.”

“You mean because she is simple?”

“They told you about her at the Spotted Sow, I presume?”

“Yes. They said this elderly couple had three girls, none of them right in their heads.”

Freddie frowned. “I despise that way of describing them, but there is no denying that Miranda, Cynthia, and Laura are not like other people. They could never live on their own as they are children in many respects. Miranda is only a child, but the other two are in their mid-thirties.”

“I presume Miranda’s condition was not evident until she was older?”

“Yes. Sedgewick was devastated when the doctor told him she would never be like other children. He was not distraught on Miranda’s behalf, but his own. He was consumed with the fear that somebody would find out that he had sired an idiot—his word for his own daughter, not mine. And so he decided that Miranda had to die—oh, not really, but for me and everyone who knew about her. With the help of his pet doctor, Sedgewick was able to persuade me she was dead. I—I don’t want to go in to—”

“You do not have to,” the duke assured her.

She swallowed and nodded. “Sedgewick assumed I would go back to being his wife and countess as I no longer had her presence to distract me. Instead, I sank into a deep depression. I was inconsolable and—and to be honest, I would have welcomed death. Sedgewick washed his hands of me. I think he, too, wished that I would die and leave him free to marry again—to somebody who could give him an heir. We had been man and wife for more than three years and had—had engaged in regular conjugal relations even for the last part of our marriage—and still I had not conceived.”

“Have you ever considered the possibility that Miranda is not really Sedgewick’s child?”

“That did not occur to me until I learned I was enceinte.” She gave him a wry look. “I suppose that makes me a fool.”

“It makes you a trusting person, and there is no crime in that.”

“No crime, maybe, but had I known the truth, I never would have—” Freddie broke off and laid a hand on her midriff, which felt no different than usual yet. “I was about to say I would go back and change what happened that day in the boathouse, but that is not true. I cannot regret this child. For years I believed I would never have one. If we had not been together, I might never have known. So, no, I do not regret what we did.”

“Good. Neither do I. You had not finished your story.”

“There is not a great deal more. Sedgewick behaved increasingly recklessly not only when it came to drinking and women, but also at the card tables. He was, in crude language, all done up .”

“You believe his hunting accident was no accident?” the duke guessed.

She nodded.

“So… you were free.”

“I was free,” she agreed. “But I was broken hearted—not for Sedgewick, but for Miranda.”

“How did you find out she was alive?”

“Sedgewick had pensioned off her nurse and given the woman a tiny cottage—more of a hut, really—on the estate. She was old and dying and consumed with guilt. It was she who told me that Sedgewick had given Miranda to a hospital for the mentally insane.” Freddie felt sick when she thought of that place. Not just Miranda’s condition, but the dozens of others she could not save. “It was dreadful, Plimpton. Absolutely horrifying. Even pigs are kept in better conditions.”

“And so, you stole her away.”

“And so I stole her away,” Freddie said, giving him a mulish look.

But instead of chiding her for stealing a child that was not her own, the duke said, “I applaud what you did, Winifred.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Any decent person would. What I do not understand is why you have kept everything a secret.”

“Have you met the new Earl of Sedgewick, my husband’s cousin?”

An expression of distaste flickered across the duke’s face. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“He is exactly the sort of selfish, insecure man who would put Miranda right back in that place for no reason other than he would not want anyone thinking he did not look after his kin. And his notion of looking after means condemning Miranda to a short, ugly, brutish life.”

The duke nodded, but he looked distracted.

Unease simmered in Freddie’s belly at his pensive expression. “What are you thinking?”

“That she is Lady Miranda de Montfort.”

“What of it?”

“You do not think she deserves more than to be tucked away like a dirty secret?”

“But Sedgewick won’t give her more. He will lock her away somewhere horrible.”

“He will not do anything of the sort if I stand as her protector.”

Freddie stared. “You—you would do that? Oppose him?”

“I doubt I would have to do much—the man not only resembles a weasel physically, he has the characteristics of one. He would not want to make an enemy of me; he will readily agree to hand wardship of her over to me.”

“I—that is a lot to consider,” Freddie admitted once she had gotten past her shock at his offer. “I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but I am not sure that bringing Miranda to live with us is the best thing for her. You see, she has lived most of her life—at least what she can recall—with the Morrisons and the two women who live there. You would have to meet Miranda to understand just how important routine and ritual are to her. To most orphaned girls of thirteen living in a castle as the ward of a duke would be a fairytale come to life.”

“But not Miranda?”

“No, not Miranda.”

“What do you wish to do, then?”

She sighed. “I do not know. I have been thinking about it constantly, but—”

“But you worried what I would do or say?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But now that I know you will champion Miranda, I can decide based on what is best for her, rather than out of fear. Thank you, Your Grace, I am…extremely grateful.”

“It is my pleasure,” he said, lifting their still-joined hands and kissing her bare wrist. His lips curled up slightly at the corner. “By the way, I believe it is time for you to call me Wyndham.”

For some reason, the invitation to use his Christian name felt almost as intimate as what they had done that rainy afternoon in the boathouse.

Freddie smiled shyly. “Thank you for what you have offered to do for Miranda…Wyndham.”